


the sound of your voice (and the beat of my heart)

by neverdanced



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Bucky hosts a podcast, Disabled Character, F/M, M/M, Meet-Cute, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Steve is an artist, War Veteran Bucky Barnes, and Bucky's biggest fan
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-02
Updated: 2015-06-29
Packaged: 2018-04-02 11:56:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4059088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neverdanced/pseuds/neverdanced
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve might have a crush.</p><p>A tiny, minuscule, soul-crushing crush that leaves him with a stupid smile on his face whenever he hears Bucky’s voice. </p><p>That said, Steve has no clue what the man looks like.</p><p>Not that it matters, but all searches he’s done have left him with nothing and Bucky’s twitter account features only photos of his cat.</p><p>Which, what a dork.</p><p>♚</p><p>(Or, Steve is a huge fan of Bucky's podcast)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Steve’s studio glows in the early morning light.

It isn’t the largest room, but Steve has made use of every inch of space. Rough drafts and reference photos are neatly pinned to boards that cover bright red walls. A drafting table is tucked into the corner and beside it sits his desk, which holds his computer along with other equipment. There are several tall bookshelves, brimming with comics, graphic novels, and art books. And of course, action figures are scattered across nearly every surface.

Home from his morning run, Steve runs a hand through his still shower damp hair and shoves the rest of a bagel into his mouth. He walks into the room and adjusts the blinds, allowing sunlight to pour in.

“Hi, guys,” he calls casually, tossing a cursory glance across the room. He’s talking to his characters, which is something he does more often than he’d like to admit. He asks them, “Ready to work?”

He’s fallen a little (or maybe a lot) behind on his deadlines, and he needs to focus.

He likes to think his characters are currently rallying in support, and are planning to give him the burst of inspiration he needs.

At his desk, Steve sets his coffee mug down and turns his computer on. While the monitor comes to life, he makes a vague attempt at tidying up. He moves a couple of actions figures to the bookshelf on his left and files a couple of ideas for dialogue.

Once his computer boots, he takes a seat.

He settles into his chair and opens the latest draft of an especially brutal fight between the villain and his new character, a former KGB assassin called Black Widow. He’s still got the note from Nat, his publisher (who he may or may not have taken a few cues from for the character), stuck to the corner of his monitor. _More blood ;)_  it reads. Because Nat loves blood and so do his readers, so Steve can’t argue.

Toying with his stylus, he clicks open a web browser to search for something to listen to while he works.

It’s Wednesday, which means his favorite podcast should have updated.

Scrolling through his subscription list he sees that it has, and he smiles.

 _Learning Fantastic Shit with Bucky_ is a simple podcast, really.

Each week a topic is selected by Bucky, the host. The topics are utterly random and varied—basically anything Bucky wants to know more about. He does his research, sometimes on the fly while he’s recording, and the listener learns along with him. At least, that’s what the podcast is presented as. Honestly, for all Steve cares the podcast could be a weekly expose on mating habits among porcupines.

The reason to keep coming back, truly, is Bucky.

Because Bucky is—well, Bucky is _Bucky_.

He’s charmingly nerdy with a goofy sense of humor and a tendency to laugh at his own dumb jokes. He’s never afraid to voice his pro-feminist and LGBTQ+ rights views and always keeping an open mind, he encourages people to email him with anything he missed or got wrong. Plus, there's his voice; it’s a little rough, with a thick, born and bred Brooklyn drawl that makes Steve weak in the knees.

Because yes, Steve might have a crush.

A tiny, minuscule, soul-crushing crush that leaves him with a stupid smile on his face whenever he hears Bucky’s voice.

That said, Steve has no clue what the man looks like.

Not that it matters, but all searches he’s done have left him with nothing and Bucky’s twitter account features only photos of his cat.

Which, what a dork.

Seriously.

Regardless, Steve has pieced together an image in his mind.

Tidbits have been dropped throughout episodes and the facts are these: Bucky is twenty-eight, with blue eyes and dark hair. (“I need a trim,” he’d commented recently in regard to his hair. “But I dunno—maybe I’ll grow it out.”) He’s a former soldier, having enlisted right out of high school, and in an episode about prosthetics he let an especially vulnerable side of himself shine in revealing he’d lost his left arm to an IED in Iraq. (“I’m not going to lie, there was a very dark period in my life after I got back. Between PTSD and my arm and—and dozens of other things, I had a very difficult time reintegrating. But I got some help and no, I’m not saying everything’s perfect now. It never will be. But I’m doing better, and that’s more than I could have ever hoped for a few years ago.”)

Now, he works at a bookstore, likes chai lattes and peppermint tea, and enjoys playing with his cat.

Steve hits play on his computer, and allows the new episode to begin.

The corny intro music gives way to Bucky’s voice. Bucky talks about his morning. He goes over the mundane details like not wanting to get up but forcing himself to go to the gym and then grosses about the guy who spilled a smoothie down the front of his favorite t-shirt.

Steve relaxes and lets Bucky’s voice wash over him. He jumps back to the other screen and begins work on his illustration while Bucky introduces the topic for the week.

 

* * *

 

An hour later, Steve is working on a gash across Black Widow’s cheek and Bucky is talking about to grow an herb garden indoors. Apparently the bodega he favors has taken a turn for the _bohemian, hipster-y crowd_ and prices on things like produce have gotten a little out of hand, which is what spurred the topic.

“Anyway,” Bucky says. “Like I said: the three things you need are good light, plenty of water, and the right nourishment.

“Looking at my space, I could definitely set something up in my kitchen. I’ve got a window over the sink with a nice, wide sill and it gets plenty of light. You need six hours each day minimum, and luckily I’ve got southern exposure. Actually, look—well, don’t _look_ but you know what I mean—right here it says southern exposure is ideal. Hot damn.” He sounds pleased and it makes Steve shake his head a little and smile because seriously, he is such a dork.

“I’ll get some supplies this week. Try to grow some basil and rosemary, maybe some mint. And if that dick at the bodega asks if I need any cilantro, I can tell him thanks but not thanks. I’m growing my own damn cilantro and he can take his absurdly priced herbs and shove ‘em up hi—“

In the background, there’s a loud crash followed by a sharp, angry yowl.

“Crap,” murmurs Bucky, pausing mid-rant. He calls, “You okay, Sarge?” and a faint meow can be heard in response. Bucky huffs into his mic. “Idiot furball,” he says with a groan. “Next, I might have to look into cats. Just, cats. I mean what the ever-living fuck. He’ll probably eat anything I try to grow.”

Steve chuckles quietly and pictures the bemused look on Bucky’s face.

There’s another meow, this time more audible.

“Look at you,” Bucky comments warmly, affection dripping from his voice. “All wet and pissed off. You get into another fight with your water dish?” There’s a rustle of movement, presumably Bucky picking his cat up. Steve knows from the photos on twitter that it’s a well-fed, orange and white tabby.

“Sorry, everyone,” apologizes Bucky. “Got a little off track. I could edit this out, but I know some of you like my damn cat so I’ll let him have his couple minutes of airtime. Either way, I don’t have much else to say. Might as well wrap this up. I’ll let you know how the garden goes and, as always, feel free to email me at fantasticshitpodcast@gmail.com or tweet me at fantasticbucky.

“Have a great day, and I’ll catch you next week. Sarge says bye, too. _Bye_ —“ Bucky changes his voice, as if to imitate his cat saying goodbye. Steve barks a surprised laugh, and then Bucky laughs too. “Wow, that was really weird and awkward. Sorry, never doing that again. Promise. Talk to all of you later.”

A warm smile glows on Steve’s face as he closes out of the podcast.

If Nat could see him right now, he knows he’d never hear the end of it.

At their last meeting she’d commented on how his, “Fixation has reached the level of a sobbing teenager at a boy band concert.”

“I’m not sobbing over anybody," Steve had argued. "And what would you know about boy bands?”

“I may have had a thing for the Backstreet Boys,” had been her reply. “But that never leaves this office.”

Steve had cocked an amused smile. “Had a thing for JT?” He’d asked.

Nat had raised an eyebrow. “JT is N’SYNC, dumbass. And confusing such a thing is a grave insult.”

The topic had been dropped after that, but it’s always there. Lurking in the background, waiting to be brought up as soon as Steve casually mentions something funny Bucky said the other week or comments on how the brand of pen Nat uses is also Bucky’s favorite.

Part shrewd businesswoman, part yenta, Nat is convinced his obsession with Bucky is purely the result of needing someone in his life. She reminds him she has plenty of men and women she could set him up with, and he always gracefully declines. He’s too busy for anything like that, and he’s perfectly content harboring an unrequited crush on a guy who he only knows by voice.

Now, Steve switches over to some podcast on politics.

The hosts are witty and easy to listen to, but he doesn’t hang off of every word or crack more than half a smile at the jokes.

The conversation quickly becomes background noise while Steve immerses himself in his work.

 

* * *

 

A couple of weeks later, Steve’s tweaking some dialogue while he listens to Bucky’s latest episode.

“So,” Bucky starts off saying. “Recently, a friend gave me this book. It’s a graphic novel from a series I hadn’t actually heard of, and it’s—it’s really good. In both art and story, it is just so awesome. I’m like, vibrating right now thinking about it and how I can’t wait to see what else this series and author have to offer.”

Steve lifts his head and listens curiously. He likes to make note of Bucky’s recommendations because they’re normally on par with his own taste. Through Bucky he has discovered dozens of awesome television shows, movies, and comics.

Bucky continues by saying, “It’s called Agent Carter. The title character is a posh, stylish, and completely badass agent of the covert SSR before, during, and after World War II. She goes on undercover missions and always bests the villainous baddies while simultaneously solving any mystery twice as fast as her misogynistic colleagues. I don’t want to give too much away, but if you enjoy strong female characters with greatly layered characterization and a fantastic, action-packed story, I recommend it.”

Steve has to pause the podcast.

He has to pause the podcast because his entire world tilts a little, and despite not having an asthma attack since his youth he can feel the phantom beginnings of one build in his chest. Or maybe that’s a panic attack. He’s never had a panic attack, but if there was ever a time to start it would be now. 

Because, shit.

Bucky is talking about Agent Carter.

Bucky is talking about one of Steve’s novels, one of Steve’s graphic novels.

Bucky has seen and read something Steve created, and liked it enough to recommend it.

His head buzzes, a thousand thoughts flying and colliding at once.

Finally, Steve composes himself enough to hit play again.

For another couple of minutes, Bucky gushes about the novel. He reads an excerpt or two (a few of Steve’s favorite lines, actually) and describes what he loves about Steve’s illustration style.

Steve can feel the hot beginnings of a blush creep up his neck and cheeks.

He’s supposed to be the one fixated on Bucky, not the other way around.

Still, it doesn’t keep him from rewinding and listening to Bucky talk about him again, and again.

 

* * *

 

“You should email him,” says Sam, later that evening.

“What? No. He doesn’t—he gets so many emails, I’m sure.” Steve takes a sip of his beer. They’re at their favorite sports bar, a nice halfway point between Steve’s apartment and Sam’s work at the VA. The crowd is mild tonight and some baseball highlights play on the screens above the bar.

“Dude, you’ve been salivating over the guy for months. Now you’ve got your in.”

“Salivating?” Asks Steve, lifting an eyebrow. “Have you been talking to Nat?”

“None of your business,” Sam replies and Steve has to roll his eyes because the secrecy those two have shrouded their relationship in is getting old. All Steve knows is that they met at one of his publicity events, made heart eyes at each other for approximately three hours, and now Sam slips references to Nat so casually into conversation it’s obvious _something_ is going on. Only Nat’s personal life is as open as a securely locked vault, so what that something is remains unknown.

“Whatever,” Steve says dismissively. “I’m not emailing him.” He glances up at the menu above the bar. “I want nachos. You want nachos?”

He flags a server and Sam gives him a thoroughly unimpressed look.

 

* * *

 

Three beers and platter of nachos later, Steve is back at his apartment and in front of his computer.

He’s got an email open and swallows thickly before he begins to type.

 _Dear Bucky,_ he starts off, except it sounds stupid. Surely Bucky isn’t his real name, unless his parents were exceptionally cruel. Only he doesn’t know his real name or even a last name to pair it with, so it’s all he’s got.

Steve backspaces, and deletes.

 _Hello,_ he type instead by way of introduction.

Less formal, less awkward.

 

> Hello,
> 
> My name is Steve Rogers and I’m a longtime listener and fan of your podcast.
> 
> I also happen to be the author and illustrator of Agent Carter. I was extremely pleased to hear you talk about my novel during your latest episode, and am happy you enjoyed it so much. You wouldn’t know, but you’ve provided me with countless hours of entertainment while I work.
> 
> Anyway, I would like to offer to send you the sequel to Agent Carter, along with the two books from my other series, Falcon. Those are the only graphic novels I currently have out, but I’m working on a crossover between Falcon and a new character (which I’m very excited about). Fingers crossed, it'll be out by the end of the year.
> 
> Looking forward to hearing from you, and have a great day.
> 
> Sincerely,  
>  Steve Rogers

Steve reads the email over several times, makes a few edits, and then hits send.

 

* * *

 

Honestly, he sort of forgets about the email.

After being chewed out by Nat over " _deadlines are deadlines, Rogers, not suggested dates to send me whatever you feel like_ ," he really hunkers down and focuses on his work. By the end of the week he’s sent her his required pages plus three additional spreads for review.

It’s on a Friday that he checks his email and notices a new one from one Bucky B.

Breath catching in his throat, Steve opens the email.

>   
>  Hi, Steve!
> 
> Wow, just… wow.
> 
> It is beyond cool that you listen to my show. I consider myself a big fan of _you_ now, so to hear you enjoy what I do is mind blowing.
> 
> As for your books, I might have already bought the sequel (and read it, three times, oops) but if you were serious about giving the others to me that would be excellent. I meant every word I said about being truly excited to explore your work.
> 
> Anyway, I don’t mean to be creepy but I read up on you a little and saw you live in Brooklyn. Do you still? Because I do too and instead of sending the books to me, maybe we could meet? I understand you’re incredibly busy working on your new novel and whatnot and probably don’t have time to meet a fan, but I’m just putting it out there.
> 
> Feel free to say no, but if you’re game just suggest a time and place. I’ll be there.
> 
> Hope to hear from you soon.
> 
> -Bucky

Steve stares at the screen, dumbfounded.

Bucky wants to meet him.

Meet, as in meet in person. And talk. And see each other’s faces and soak in each other’s presences and holy crap, holy crap. He could call Sam, he knows. Or text him. He could ask for advice but he can already hear Sam’s voice in his head: _You wouldn’t have made it this far in life without taking a few risks. Just do it, man._

Because Sam is _Sam_ —he’s amazing, wonderful, and easily the most inspirational man in Steve’s life.

Squealing his shoulders, Steve hits reply.

>   
>  Bucky,
> 
> Yes, meeting sounds like a great idea.
> 
> How about 9am this Sunday, at The Goat? It's a coffee shop on fifth and Main. Let me know if that works.
> 
> Hope to see you soon,  
>  Steve

And twenty minutes later comes a reply.

>   
>  Steve-
> 
> Sounds great! :))
> 
> -Bucky

Steve draws a quick breath, smirks a little at the emoticon and then genuinely smiles through the panic that builds in his chest.

 

* * *

 

Steve dials Sam, and as soon as the phone picks up he blurts out, "Bucky wants to meet. In person. I said yes."  
  
There's a light chuckle on the other end of the line and it's Nat who replies, "Good, now you can properly oggle him." He can hear the _smirk_ in her tone and Steve scowls a little before glancing at his phone to make sure he called the right person.  
  
"Can I talk to Sam?" He asks.

There's movement on the other end of the line and Sam's voice comes through a moment later. "Sorry, man, she stole my phone. Now what's this I hear about you having a date with your radio boy?"

"He hosts a podcast, not the radio, and it isn't a date," Steve corrects. "But... I don't know. I'm nervous, I guess."

"Don't be," Sam replies breezily. "You only live once and you can't go out having any regrets."

"I figured you'd say something like that."

"Of course, I'm awesome," Sam replies.

"Actually, he's a jerk who thinks Pad Thai and Lo Mein are the same thing," Steve can hear Nat shout from the background.

Sam grumbles a little. "I do not," he mutters, then huffs a sigh. 

"I'll be fine, right?" Asks Steve. He knows this isn't a date but he still can't help but feel like the small, sickly boy he used to be; the boy who toyed nervously with his lapels while wondering if he should ask Cindy Martin to dance at Homecoming (he didn't, and he still sort of regrets it). He's come a long way since then, and knows he's objectively attractive and has a decent personality but what if, what if he isn't what Bucky expected? What if Bucky isn't what he expected? There are so many variables and the entire situation makes his palms sweat.

"You'll be fine," Sam assures him because seriously, what would he do without Sam. "Make easy conversation and don't salivate over him too much."

"I can do that," confirms Steve.

"Good. Now, you okay? I got something else to attend to."

"Like Nat?" Asks Steve and there's a pregnant pause on the other end of the line.

"No," says Sam, and he is such a bad liar.

"Sure," replies Steve. "Talk to you later."

"Bye."

And Steve has to roll his eyes a little but whatever, he’s going to meet with Bucky.

He’s going to meet _Bucky_.

Jesus Christ.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, this is silly and born purely out of my love for podcasts and the crushes I develop on the hosts.
> 
> More chapters to come soon
> 
> I'm [winterbvck on tumblr](http://www.winterbvck.tumblr.com) if you want to follow me/send me prompts/whatever else :)
> 
> And you can like/reblog the fic [here on tumblr](http://winterbvck.tumblr.com/post/120560441137/the-sound-of-your-voice-and-the-beat-of-my-heart)


	2. Chapter 2

On Sunday, Steve gets to the coffee shop early.

He runs a hand down the front of his grey cardigan and flicks a piece of invisible lint from his jeans (the pair he thinks are too tight but Nat has continually assured him fit “just right”). Then, he adjusts the knapsack over his shoulder and heads to the counter. There, he orders a plain coffee for himself and after a moment’s hesitation, a chai latte for Bucky because why not.

Then, drinks in hand, he finds a table off to the side and takes a seat.

He tries not to watch the door too intently. Bucky had told him he’d be wearing his turtles, whatever the hell that means. Steve figures he’ll know it when he sees it.

Five minutes pass.

The bell over the door chimes and as Steve lifts his head, he sees one of the most beautiful men he has ever laid eyes on headed in his direction. Because, seriously, fuck. The image he’d formed in his mind doesn’t hold a candle to the real thing.

Bucky is gorgeous, with piercing blue eyes and dark hair swept into a neat wave. He’s long, lean, and wears a snug t-shirt that says Party Rockin’ with—well, the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. _Turtles._ Steve gets it now. Over the t-shirt is a worn, red flannel shirt with the left sleeve pinned neatly near his shoulder.

“Steve, right?” Asks Bucky. He sounds nervous and chews at his lower lips a little. He’s got nice lips, Steve notes.

“Right. Yeah. Sorry.” Steve rises to his feet. He’s got a couple inches on Bucky and he extends a hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise.” Bucky shakes his hand firmly.

Steve tells him, “I got you a drink—a chai latte. I remember—I mean, you said you like them.” As soon as the words leave Steve’s lips, he can’t help but wince. “God, that sounds creepy. Sorry.”

Bucky’s laugh is low and light. He shakes his head and doesn’t break eye contact with Steve. “Not at all creepy,” he assures him. “Thank you. I love them.” He takes the drink and then takes a seat. Steve follows suit and sits down, pulling his knapsack onto his lap.

“I brought the books for you,” he says. He pulls out the first Falcon book and immediately drops it, because his coordination is as good as nothing right now as every nerve in his body buzzes frantically. The book hits the floor with a dull thunk and Steve swipes a hand through his hair. “Sorry,” he mumbles, wishing he could feign some semblance of calm. He flashes Bucky an apologetic smile and picks the book up. “I’m still a little—I never thought I’d meet you, is all. I’ve spent so much time listening to you and now you’re here, in front of me.”

“Hey now, pal,” says Bucky, leaning in with a twinkle in his eye. “I’m supposed to be the one fanboying over _you_.” His voice is a low rumble and it sends a shiver up Steve’s spine.

“Oh,” Steve stutters the word, throat suddenly dry.

Bucky sits back in his seat. He tells Steve, “It isn’t every day I meet an author and illustrator I respect. Let alone for free. I mean, before you emailed me I was already looking into whether you do comic conventions.”

“I do,” confirms Steve with a nod. “But they’re pretty informal compared to this.”

Bucky snorts. Honest to god _snorts_ and Steve’s heart swells.

“Seriously,” Bucky agrees, eyes darting off to the side. “Maybe a couple of minutes of conversation and an autograph you paid and arm and a leg for.” He pauses, and meets Steve’s eye again. “Or in my case, just the arm.” He nods to the left and Steve’s eyes widen a notch.

Lowering his chin, Bucky smirks a little and quirks an eyebrow. “You can laugh,” he tells Steve. “Where would I be without a sense of humor?”

Steve lets out the breath he’d been holding in a quiet sigh.

Then, he shakes his head and _does_ laugh.

Bucky’s smile brightens. He’s got a nice smile. A real nice smile.

 

* * *

 

They spend the next couple of hours at the coffee shop, heads ducked together while they page through Steve’s books. Conversation drifts casually from work to hobbies and interests and it’s quickly evident how much they have in common.

As the hour approaches noon, Bucky glances at his phone and frowns.

“Um.” He rubs at his neck a little and tugs at his hair. “I’m sorry, but I have to get going. I’ve got a—a thing.” He makes a vague gesture with his hand and lowers his gaze, sounding genuinely apologetic; like he might have stayed another few hours if he’d had the chance (because hell, Steve would have stayed all day).

“Don’t apologize,” Steve tells him, masking the brief stab of disappointment that flares in his chest. “It was nice meeting you.”

They stand, and head toward the exit.

“I’d like to get your number,” Bucky tells him, and Steve nods.

Bucky hands his phone to Steve, who adds himself as a contact and then, he texts his own phone from Bucky’s.

“Got it,” he says. “And, you know, you can stop by studio whenever you want. In case you want to do an episode on graphic novels or… something.” He pauses, and scuffs the toe of his sneaker against the sidewalk. “Or just see where I work… or…”

“Or just want to see you again?” Tries Bucky, tilting his chin upward and flashing Steve a soft smile.

“Or that,” Steve manages to say after a beat. Heat swirls low in his abdomen and he can feel a blush work its way up from his chest and neck and spill onto his cheeks.

As they part, Bucky gives Steve’s shoulder a warm squeeze.

“We’ll talk soon,” he says. Then, he gives Steve a small wave and walks away.

Smiling, Steve places a hand over the spot Bucky had just touched.

 

* * *

 

“So, I had a fantastic weekend.”

There’s a cheerful lilt to Bucky’s voice and Steve turns the volume up a little.

Bucky continues by saying, “You know that graphic novel I was talking about a few weeks back? Agent Carter? Well, it turns out the author and illustrator is a fan of this podcast. I got to hang out with him this weekend and he is just—well, he’s just as awesome as his novels. Super passionate about his work, plus he’s funny and charming and—“

Bucky pauses, and Steve can’t help but picture the way he’d ducked his head and smiled to himself at the coffee shop.

And his tone is almost bashful when he says, “Well, like I said, he listens to the show so I can’t say _too_ much. I bet he’s blushing right now, though, if he’s listening to the show. Because, yes, he blushes and it’s adorable.”

Steve is, in fact, blushing.

Mostly because, adorable? He hasn’t been called adorable since he was a teenager and people thought he was younger than he was. It doesn’t bother him now, the way it did then.

Now, it just makes him shift a little and wonder what exactly Bucky means by it.

Bucky carries on for another few minutes, talking about how he plans to visit Steve’s studio and thanks all of his listeners who have already told him they’ve checked out Steve’s work.

Steve fires off a quick text to Bucky, thanking him for promoting his work like that, and then sits back in his chair to listen to the rest of the episode.

 

* * *

 

“Adorable, huh?” Asks Nat.

Steve is in her office. She’s got a sharp, tailored black suit on and there’s a neatly trimmed bonsai tree on her desk along with an action figure of Falcon (she knows Falcon was based on Sam, so don’t even get Steve started). She’s holding a printed copy of Steve’s latest draft in her hands, and has a carefully manicured eyebrow raised in his direction.

“What?” Steve asks.

“Your boy. He called you adorable.”

Lowering his head, Steve sighs. “You listened to his show?” He asks.

“I’ve listened to his show since the first time you mentioned him,” replies Nat without missing a beat, as if this is common knowledge. “He’s funny. Just the right amount of sardonic and charming.”

“I thought I was the one with the crush,” Steve replies offhand, and Nat narrows her eyes.

“He likes you,” she says in response. “It’s cute.”

“Cute?” Repeats Steve. The word falls strangely off Nat’s tongue and he wonders how many times she’s said it in her life.

She doesn’t reply, just pages through the draft in her hands. “This is good,” she says. “I like it. Is Black Widow based off of me?”

Steve chokes a little on his own spit. “No,” he says.

“Too bad,” says Nat. “I love her.”

After a beat, Steve mutters, “Maybe a little.”

“Good.” Nat smiles at him with her teeth, which is a little unnerving. “And make sure you ask that boy out on a date.”

 

* * *

 

Under the guise of inviting him over for a studio visit, Steve manages to text Bucky. It’s early morning, around nine, and he spends more time than he’d like to admit crafting the text before sending it off.

Then, he waits.

By early afternoon, he sends one more. Just a quick, _Did you get my text?_

Again, nothing.

Once evening arrives he wonders if Bucky’s phone is even working, so he calls. It rings several times before going to voicemail and Steve leaves an awkward message, stating his full name and wondering if Bucky was still interested in seeing him again.

He’s not trying to be overbearing, it’s just that the last time he texted Bucky he heard back in a matter of seconds, and when they were at the coffee shop Bucky had his phone sitting beside him on the table the entire time. He comes off as the type of guy who likes to be connected, and not hearing back for nearly an entire day strikes him as odd.

It isn’t until the following evening that he finally hears back.

His phone rings, Bucky’s name popping up on the display, and Steve picks up.

“Hey,” says Steve, setting his stylus down. He’s seated at his desk and sits back in his chair, tucking the phone between his shoulder and ear.

“Hi.” Bucky’s voice sounds off. Tired, and a little ragged. “Sorry for not—I got your texts, and message. Just wanted to let you know.” The charm that normally drips from his tone is gone, replaced by something flat.

Steve frowns. “You okay?” He asks.

“Not really, but—y’know, everyone’s got their good days and their bad.”

Realization dawns on Steve and he closes his eyes. “And yours are especially bad,” he replies. He knows about Bucky’s PTSD and has spent enough time at the VA, volunteering at various events Sam has hosted to know how horrific it is. To say he understands or whatever you normally tell people to comfort them would be an insult, because he doesn’t understand. Could never, will never understand.

Bucky’s quiet for a long moment, and when he responds his voice is quiet. “Yeah,” he says.

“I don’t want to keep you,” Steve tells him.

“Nah,” Bucky clears his throat and Steve can hear him moving around a little on the other end. “It’s nice, hearing your voice. Maybe just talk to me a little. I don’t care about what.” It sounds like he’s lying down, the rustle of blankets scratching at the receiver a little.

Steve nods. “Sure,” he says.

He tells Bucky about the book he’s working on. About Black Widow, about Falcon. He talks about a battle sequence on a bridge and, “Why did I choose a bridge? I hate drawing bridges.” He’s rambling, really, but Bucky snorts quietly a couple of times, small huffs of laughter that tell Steve he's listening and enjoying what he's saying, so Steve keeps talking.

Finally, Bucky’s breathing slows into long, even breaths.

He’s asleep, Steve can tell.

Steve draws a breath in and hangs up, hoping with all his heart that Bucky has a good sleep tonight. He deserves it.

 

* * *

 

The next morning, Steve has a text from Bucky.

 **Bucky:** sorry for falling asleep on you. think i could stop by your studio this week? tuesday, maybe, around 1?

Steve responds with a yes, and adds that he hopes he had a nice sleep.

A couple seconds later he receives a selfie in response. Bucky's hair is rumbled and he wears a threadbare t-shirt, but he looks bright-eyed and _happy_ with a small smile on his face.

 **Bucky:** best i’ve had in weeks

Smiling, Steve silently saves the photo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm [winterbvck on tumblr](http://www.winterbvck.tumblr.com) if you want to follow me/send me prompts/whatever else :)
> 
> And you can like/reblog the fic [here on tumblr](http://winterbvck.tumblr.com/post/120560441137/the-sound-of-your-voice-and-the-beat-of-my-heart)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm *so* sorry it took so long for me to update! My real life got a little hectic, but I promise future chapters won't take so long.

Bucky stands in the center of Steve’s studio, jaw hinged and eyes bright.

He looks like a kid in a candy store.

“This is awesome,” he says, his tone filled with unabashed awe.

Leaning against the doorframe with hands stuffed into the pockets of his blue hoodie, Steve only smiles. He watches while Bucky moves around the room, appearing to soak in every detail. He wears red sneakers, skinny jeans, and a white t-shirt with an image of Agent Carter on it (in her blue suit, red hat, and gun in hand). Steve had complimented him on it, of course, and he wonders if he’ll ever reach a point where he stops shaking his head fondly at what a dork Bucky is. There seems to be no bounds, which is both endearing and really kind of hot.

Honestly, Steve hasn’t dated anybody who shares his deepest interests.

Peggy had always listened patiently while he waxed poetic about the latest issue of whatever, and had read every book he gave or recommended her. But she had quietly taken him by the hand one night and told him that while she adored his enthusiasm, she didn’t quite _get_ what he wanted her to see. She could appreciate the stories and the artwork, but she didn’t connect to it on a deeper level as Steve did.

And then, on the other end of the spectrum, there was Brock who—what a dick, seriously, what a dick—had told Steve he didn’t care and didn’t want to listen to Steve talk about ‘nerd crap’. That he could draw and do his research (because that’s what he called reading comics and graphic novels— _research_ ) during the day, but didn’t need to bring it into their relationship. (Seriously, how had he stayed with that guy for nearly a year? Peggy still chastises him over it.)

It’s different, being around somebody who really gets him.

But he’s getting ahead of himself.

He isn’t dating Bucky.

They’re just… hanging out.

Across the room, Bucky is thumbing absently at Steve’s supplies while he studies a rough sketch of Black Widow on Steve’s drafting table.

“I don’t let many people see my work in progress,” admits Steve, fighting the nervous itch of self-consciousness that creeps up his spine. Even Nat had raised an eyebrow when he’d told her Bucky was coming over. _”Steve, ‘don’t look at it too closely, it isn’t finished’ Rogers is letting somebody into his sacred space?”_ She’d asked. _”Fuck off,”_ Steve had replied.

He knew she had a point, but it isn’t as bad as he’d thought it might be. Bucky isn’t here to criticize or critique, he’s just there to _enjoy_.

“That so?” Asks Bucky. He turns toward Steve, lips arched into a small, thoughtful smile.

Once again, Steve is struck by how when it comes to Bucky, everything is in the details. At first glance he’s a good looking guy, just amazingly attractive, but when you really _look_ you begin to notice all the other things that are just so sweet about him; from the small cleft in his chin to the way his chin doubles just a little when he moves his head the right way. Steve’s been fighting the urge to draw him since he met him (a battle he’ll likely succumb to soon).

“Yeah,” replies Steve, holding his gaze. “You’re like, one of four people who have actually been in my studio.”

Bucky’s brow crinkles and his expression flits between surprised and something else.

“Seriously?” He asks after a beat. Steve nods. “That’s—wow.” Bucky shakes his head. When he speaks again, he sounds hesitant. Like he’s afraid of what the answer might be. “Was it my barrage of compliments that caused you to lower your guard and allow me to slip through the cracks?” He asks. “Or… or am I just that special?” Bucky coats the final words with a cocky drawl, but Steve sees through the guise. He recognizes that Bucky’s smile has faded from something natural to something tinged with worry.

“A little of both,” Steve answers honestly. “But mostly the latter, because you are—special, I mean. You’re unlike anyone I’ve met and I’m just—I’m really happy I had the chance to get to know you.” He swallows thickly around the final words and Bucky’s body relaxes visibly, limbs loosening and smile growing warmer.

“You’re a punk, Rogers. You know that?” He’s teasing, and Steve chuckles lightly.

“So I’ve been told, once or twice,” he says.

Bucky closes the space between them. Steps up to Steve and meets his eye. This close, Steve can smell the clean scent of soap and some sort of herbal shampoo on him. It’s pleasant.

Bucky says, “But yeah, I’m glad I had the chance to get to know you too. Because—well, you’re pretty swell and I’m looking forward to see where this goes.”

Then, he takes a step back. He leaves the statement hanging in the air, open-ended enough for Steve to draw dozens of conclusions.

And draw dozens of conclusions is exactly what Steve does.

 

* * *

 

They spend the next hour in Steve’s studio.

Steve opens a couple of drafts on his computer, shows Bucky how he works on his tablet, and then they get sidetracked while Steve does a couple of quick sketches of Bucky’s cat. (Because Bucky had shyly requested Steve draw his cat and how can he say no to that.) They sit side-by-side, Bucky’s phone propped up against Steve’s monitor with a picture of Sarge on the screen. Steve draws and Bucky observes quietly, making small, impressed noises every so often.

Once he finishes, Steve sends the file to Bucky and then turns in his seat.

“You hungry?” He asks. The hour has inched past two and Steve had been too nervous to eat breakfast that morning. He’s ravenous at this point and is happy when Bucky nods.

“I could eat,” he says.

“I was thinking Thai,” says Steve. “You like Thai?”

“Love it,” replies Bucky, because of course he does. Steve’s got a feeling he could fill a hat with his likes and interests, pull any one out at random, and he and Bucky could spend the better part of an hour discussing it.

“Cool,” is what he settles for saying, instead.

 

* * *

 

Steve orders the food and once it arrives, they take a seat on his sofa.

They’ve each got a container of Phad-Woon-Soon with chicken, plus a side of egg rolls. On the television an episode of Judge Mathis plays and the banter between the former roommates is growing a little tiresome, but Mathis has been especially on point so Steve doesn’t touch the remote. Plus, Bucky had commented on how hot Doyle is. Which, score, and bonus points considering Doyle is tall and blond (not that Steve’s reading anything into it but… well, he is.)

A commercial breaks and Steve turns toward Bucky.

“So,” he says, setting his chopsticks down. “Bucky.”

“Yeah?” Bucky’s got an egg roll partway into his mouth. His words are muffled as he takes a bite and chews.

“Is that actually your name?” Asks Steve. “Like, honest to god, on your birth certificate and everything?” It’s something that’s been on his mind, and now is as good of time as ever.

Bucky smiles at him while he chews. His cheeks are plump likes a chipmunk and once he swallows he says, “My name is James.”

“James?” Steve echoes because, huh. He hadn’t seen that coming.

“James Buchanan Barnes,” Bucky tells him. He pops the remainder of the egg roll into his mouth and chews thoughtfully before he continues. “My sisters, they used to tease me. They’d try to call me by my full name but they could never wrap their tongues around Buchanan, so it became Bucky. Soon I became Bucky and it just… stuck.”

He shrugs, like it’s a simple and obvious explanation.

Steve reels a little and tries to conceal the hearts in his eyes because seriously, his sisters gave him the nickname when they were children and he still goes by it? That’s just—

“That’s adorable,” he says, not quite meaning to say it aloud but now it’s out there.

Bucky smirks at him a little before chucking a balled up napkin in his direction. It bounces off Steve’s shoulder and onto the floor. “Watch who you’re calling adorable,” he says, leveling Steve with a mock-glare and pointing at him with his fork.

“You called me adorable first,” Steve points out.

Bucky seems to think for a moment, and then laughs as he recalls the time he called Steve adorable during his podcast, after their first meeting. “So I did,” he says. “Call it a truce,” he decides.

“Sure,” says Steve.

“But you are adorable,” Bucky adds. “Like a giant puppy.”

“A puppy?”

“Everybody loves a puppy,” says Bucky. “I mean, I’ve always been a cat person but my cat’s an asshole so I’m not going to call you a cat. Because you’re not, I mean. An asshole.”

“Not an asshole might be one of the highest compliments I’ve ever received,” says Steve, smiling. “You sure know how to flatter a fella.”

Something flares in Bucky’s gaze and he smiles. “I aim to please,” he says.

“So you do,” replies Steve.

 

* * *

 

He walks Bucky out.

They pause in the entryway to Steve’s building, near the door. Bucky leans back against it and lifts his chin a notch to smile up at Steve. “I had a nice time,” he says. “Thanks for inviting me.” He digs his hand into the pocket of his jeans and presses the toe of his sneaker against the floor.

“Anytime,” says Steve.

He holds Bucky’s gaze and, if he’s reading the moment correctly, he should kiss him. Like, right now. Except this wasn’t a date. They aren’t—well, he doesn’t _think_ they are—god, what are they? Steve rakes a hand through his hair, eyes darting off the side and he hears Bucky let out an impatient huff.

“Do I have to stand here all day, or are you gonna kiss me already?” Asks Bucky. Steve jerks his gaze back and Bucky is giving him a _look_. Something between amused and irritated and god—

“I think you’re capable of kissing me,” Steve argues, and Bucky rolls his eyes.

“Punk,” he mumbles, but it doesn’t hold any weight.

“Jerk,” retorts Steve, and then bites his tongue because maybe he was taking the banter too far.

Except Bucky is still smiling and after a beat he says, “Fine,” and pulls his hand out of his pocket. He wraps it around the back of Steve’s neck, his fingers soft and nimble as he tugs Steve toward him, mashing his mouth against his. The kiss is messy and dirty and just so fucking _good_. When Bucky pulls away his pupils are blown and he pushes his hand through his hair, sending it up in all sorts of odd angles. It makes him look even cuter.

“Been trying to control myself,” he says with a lopsided smile. “Been wanting to do that since I first google’d you. All those press photos, and in those _jeans_.”

“I wore those jeans,” Steve murmurs absently, “to the coffee shop.”

“Think I didn’t notice.”

Steve sucks a sharp breath in and lowers his nose to Bucky’s neck. He breathes in his scent and then says, “Been wanting to do this since I first heard your voice.” It’s a little embarrassing to admit, but the way Bucky _quivers_ tells him it’s okay.

“Fuck,” he whispers against Steve’s ear. “You win.”

Then, he’s drawing Steve back up and kissing him again. This time it’s harder, with intent, and Steve slots their hips together. He presses into Bucky _just so_ evoking a groan, and can’t even be bothered that they’re in public.

The only thing he can focus on is Bucky’s warm, solid weight against him.

 

* * *

 

“So, how was the date?” Asks Nat.

They’re seated in Sam’s apartment and honestly Steve had been under the impression he was coming over to watch the game with _Sam_. He hadn’t known Nat would be there, nor did he know he would be given the third degree.

“Where’re the chicken wings?” Asks Steve, ignoring Nat entirely.

Sam hands him a platter of the extra (extra) hot wings and dip. Steve takes one and dunks it in the dip. The bite he takes makes him sweat a little, but it’s so good. The perfect amount of crispy, tender, spicy, and delicious.

Nat huffs impatiently.

“Steve,” she says, like a petulant child (except he’d never admit he’d called her a child in his mind because she’d have him by the throat in two seconds flat).

“You want one?” He asks. He offers her the platter. She nabs one instantly and scarfs it down without any dip. He’s a little afraid of the way she keeps her eyes trained on him without a single tear forming because seriously—those wings are hot.

She swallows and repeats, “Steve,” her tone even and clear.

“It wasn’t a date,” he defends. Nat fixes him with a _look_ that could turn sand to glass and he wilts a little beneath it. He opens his mouth, closes it, opens it again and finally accedes because he realizes he isn’t a match for Natalia Romanov. Not even remotely. “We hung out,” he tells her. “And, uh—“ He clears his throat and fidgets a little. “And _wemadeoutalittle_.”

“What was that?” Asks Nat, lips inching into a grin.

“We made out a little,” Steve says, emphasizing each word loud and clear. Because yes, he kissed Bucky and it was fan-fucking-tastic. He’d sort of hoped it might lead to more but after rutting up against each other like teenagers for the better part of ten minutes, Bucky had admitted he had to go and Steve had reluctantly let him leave. But not before giving him one more kiss and promising to call him.

Nat grins. Honest to god _grins_ and it’s a little terrifying. Meanwhile, Sam begins to choke. Without turning away, Nat gives him a hearty pat on the back. “Easy, big boy,” she drawls, and Sam continues to sputter.

“Christ, Steve,” gasps Sam. “You’ve been single for how long, and now you’re making out with guys you’ve just met?”

“We didn’t just meet,” Steve argues. “I mean, we did, I guess, but…” he trails off, uncertain how to put it into words. He feels like he’s known Bucky forever. From the podcast he’s learned the most intimate details of Bucky’s life, his trials and triumphs and everything in between. He knows what makes him laugh, what makes him cry—things couples who have been dating for _months_ wouldn’t know.

But to say all that would be cheesy so he settles for, “I feel like I’ve known him for a long time, is all.”

Sam stares at him. “Who are you?” He asks.

“He’s the guy who gets the good vodka,” Nat replies, hopping up from the sofa and sprinting toward the kitchen. “Let’s drink to our boy getting some.”

“Not the good vodka,” Sam mutters, brow creasing in a mixture of disgust and pain. “I couldn’t think straight for days after the last time we drank that shit.”

“That’s because you’re a lightweight, Wilson,” calls Nat from the kitchen. She’s reaching into his freezer and Steve doesn’t have time to question why she has stuff stored at Sam’s place or _when did you drink the good vodka together_?

“I’m not getting any,” he chooses to point out instead.

“But you will be,” Nat says, and Steve squirms a little at the words because he hopes so. He really, really hopes so.

She returns a second later with three glasses and a bottle of vodka with a label that certainly isn’t in English. Across the coffee table, Sam mouths, ‘I warned you,’ and Steve shrugs helplessly.

All he can do is sit back, relax, and settle in for what he assumes will be a long night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, you can find me at [winterbvck on tumblr](http://winterbvck.tumblr.com/)


End file.
